244: Chapter 243 The Return of the Face, The Cracks of Time, and the First Cry of "Mama"

On the Return Path: The Final Stretch

The third day. The final six hours.

Fullness's spaceship sped through the passage, the exit right ahead. Behind that door was the Cradle, home, and the bowl of noodles Lin Wan was currently cooking.

But she didn't dare relax.

Because that silhouette was still there.

It wasn't pressed against the passage walls, but was following far behind, like a shadow that would never dissipate. It didn't approach, nor did it leave. It just followed.

The pinch of soil from the Mars potato field was still in her inner pocket. Since yesterday, it had been glowing faintly. Not a warning, but—a reminder? Comfort? Fullness didn't know.

She only knew that as long as that pinch of soil was there, the shadow would only follow and not approach.

Six hours. Five hours. Four hours.

The passage grew narrower, the exit closer.

The shadow was also getting closer.

It wasn't approaching the ship, but "growing larger." It was like it was expanding, as if preparing for something.

Three hours. Two hours. One hour.

The exit was right ahead, less than one light-second away.

The shadow suddenly stopped.

Then, it began to "contract."

It wasn't disappearing, but condensing—that massive, blurry silhouette was collapsing toward its center bit by bit, turning into a tiny, extremely bright point.

That point of light was brighter than any star. But it wasn't a warm light; it was a cold, all-consuming light.

Fullness's heart nearly stopped beating.

That point of light was aimed at her spaceship.

Then, it "fired."

It wasn't a beam of light or energy, but a "rift in time"—wherever it passed, the passage walls began to disintegrate, space began to warp, and everything collapsed into that rift.

The speed of the rift was much faster than the spaceship.

A distance of one light-second would be overtaken in less than ten seconds.

Fullness stared fixedly ahead. Eight seconds to the exit.

Eight seconds. Is it enough?

She looked down at the pinch of soil. Its light had reached its peak.

She pressed it to her lips and whispered:

“Thank you all. Goodbye.”

Then, she threw the pinch of soil with all her might toward the rift.

That tiny pinch of soil from the Mars potato field traced an arc through the passage and collided with the approaching rift.

Then—a miracle happened.

The rift stopped.

It wasn't blocked, but "confused." The things contained within that soil—the photosynthesis of countless ordinary days, the chorus of countless voices saying "I exist," the "proof of existence" of countless potatoes, a little cabbage, and a patch of land—made the rift, whose essence was "cleansing," unable to understand, digest, or continue.

It stopped there, vibrating violently.

One second. Two seconds. Three seconds.

Fullness's spaceship burst through the exit.

The door slammed shut behind her.

She was safe.

That pinch of soil remained in the passage forever.

That rift also remained there forever.

Fullness slumped in her seat, tears streaming down her face.

The Launch Site: The Returned Noodles

Above the launch site, the door opened once more.

Fullness's ship slowly descended.

The hatch opened, and she walked out, pale and trembling, but alive.

Lin Wan was the first to rush forward, hugging her tightly.

“You're back! You're finally fucking back!” Lin Wan's voice trembled so much it was almost inaudible.

Fullness held her, crying and laughing, unable to say a single word.

Chen Mo stood nearby, his eyes also red. He reached out, wanting to say something, but nothing came out.

Su Kun walked over, "listened" gently for a moment, then opened her eyes and said:

“That soil... is gone.”

Fullness nodded, crying even harder.

“It blocked it for me... that rift... it's gone...”

Lin Wan held her tight and whispered:

“But it protected you. It did its job.”

In the distance, Lin Shen stood at the back of the crowd, watching from afar.

His gaze remained calm, but his hands were trembling slightly.

That soil was sent by Old Zhang. It was from the Mars potato field. It was proof of countless ordinary days.

It was gone.

But it saved a person.

That was enough.

The Cafeteria: Three Bowls of Noodles

That night, in the cafeteria, three bowls of noodles were placed together.

One bowl was for Fullness. She ate slowly, chewing every mouthful for a long time.

One bowl was for Lin Wan. She accompanied Fullness, eating slowly, mouthful by mouthful.

One bowl was for that pinch of soil. It was gone, but the noodles were still served and placed before the empty seat.

Great Strength stood nearby, looking at the three bowls of noodles, silent for a long time.

Then, he turned back to the kitchen and cooked another bowl of noodles.

He carried that bowl to the Memory Index Wall and placed it on the ground.

“For everyone who is gone,” he whispered. “Soil, seeds, people, civilizations. Come and eat.”

The steam from the noodles rose in curls, drifting toward the wall.

The paper notes on the wall trembled gently in the steam.

As if in response.

Command Center: The Rift in Time

The data Fullness brought back was being urgently analyzed.

That rift, though stopped, had not disappeared. It remained in that passage, frozen forever.

But more terrifyingly, it was only the "first one."

Zhou Zhe stared at the time ripples still spreading on the light screen, his all-white Poem Markings fluctuating violently.

“Those annual rings...” he murmured, “aren't layers. They are rifts.”

Su Kun nodded, her face pale. “Every annual ring is a timeline. Every timeline has a rift approaching the present. The one Fullness encountered was just one of them.”

Ashes' voice was so raspy it was almost inaudible. “The time hunters... aren't just one. There are countless. Every timeline with 'excessive meaning density' has a hunter cleaning it up.”

Lin Shen's hands slowly clenched beneath the table.

“How many lines are there?”

Su Kun closed her eyes and "listened" for a long time.

Then, she opened her eyes and said:

“Thirty-seven.”

Thirty-seven timelines.

Thirty-seven approaching rifts.

Fullness used a pinch of soil to block one. But there were thirty-six more.

Lin Shen was silent for a long time.

Then, he asked:

“When will they arrive?”

Su Kun shook her head. “I don't know. The speeds of those rifts vary. The fastest might be... five years. The slowest, perhaps fifty.”

Five years.

Shorter than the Reapers' countdown.

Lin Shen stood up and walked to the window, gazing into the depths of the starry sky.

Those invisible rifts were closing in on them.

But he was no longer afraid.

Because he knew they had Fullness's pinch of soil. They had the potato fields on Mars. They had Old Zhang's flute music. They had the thousands of notes on that wall. They had the "proof of existence" left by countless ordinary people through a meal, a word, or a hug during countless ordinary days.

Those things could make the rifts "confused."

They could make the hunters "stop."

They could make time stand still for them at that moment.

He turned to face everyone.

“Activate maximum alert,” he said. “But not for defense. For a 'display.'”

“Display?”

“Let those rifts see us. See that wall. See the potato fields on Mars. See Old Zhang's vegetable garden. See the steam from a bowl of noodles. See the 'the land is still here' on a slip of paper. Let them see all the things they cannot understand.”

He paused and looked out the window.

“They want to cleanse time. We'll show them what is inside time.”

Mars: The First "Mama"

The Mars potato field.

That sprouted seed had broken through the soil.

A thin, tender green stem, topped with a pair of tiny cotyledons, swayed gently in the Martian sunlight.

The Potato Chief's projection hovered above it, silent for a long time.

Then, with the softest, gentlest rhythm, it asked:

“Who are you?”

The tiny seedling trembled slightly.

Then, an extremely weak, almost inaudible signal came through.

Not language. Not rhythm. But a word.

“Mama.”

The Potato Chief was stunned.

Mama?

It remembered the last signal little cabbage sent before falling into slumber. It remembered that each of those seven seeds carried a part of little cabbage's memory, a part of her consciousness, a part of her "existence."

This seedling was calling it "Mama."

The Potato Chief was silent for a very long time.

Then, using the rhythm of the potatoes, it said softly:

“I am not Mama. But I will watch over you. Just as I watched over her.”

The seedling's leaves shook gently, as if saying: Okay.

Beside it, the six seeds that hadn't sprouted yet moved slightly in the soil.

As if to say: We're coming out soon too.

Earth: Old Zhang's Reply

Earth, a small southern county town.

Old Zhang received a letter.

It wasn't an ordinary letter; it was sent from the Cradle, stamped with the seal of "Deep Space Communications."

He opened the letter; inside was only a single slip of paper.

There was only one line of text on the paper:

“That pinch of soil protected a person. It's gone. Thank you. —Fullness”

Old Zhang looked at that line of text for a very long time.

Then, he smiled.

He smiled until his eyes turned red.

He turned back into the house and carefully taped that slip of paper to the wall.

Beside it was the note he had written himself: "The land is still here."

The two slips of paper were right next to each other.

He looked at them for a while, then took out his flute and played a tune toward the two slips of paper.

It was still that old-fashioned folk song. But today, he played it especially softly and gently, like he was singing a lullaby.

The two slips of paper trembled gently in the flute music.

As if they were breathing along with the rhythm.

Night: Thirty-Seven Lights

Night.

Lin Shen stood by the window, gazing into the depths of the starry sky.

Those invisible rifts were closing in. Thirty-seven of them. Five years. Ten years. Fifty years.

But he was no longer afraid.

Because he knew that no matter when those rifts arrived, no matter how powerful they were, there was one thing they would never understand—

Those tiny, trivial, yet incredibly real things—a bowl of noodles, a seed, a slip of paper, a word, a cry of "Mama"—constituted the proof of "existence."

They could delete time. They could cleanse civilizations. They could turn everything into nothingness.

But they couldn't delete the things that were "remembered."

Because those things were not in time.

They were in the act of "not forgetting."

He turned and walked out of the room.

In the cafeteria, the lights were still on. Fullness and Lin Wan were still eating noodles. Chen Mo sat beside them, watching them. Su Kun had her eyes closed, "listening" to the footsteps of those rifts. Zhou Zhe's all-white Poem Markings glowed faintly.

He walked over and sat down beside Lin Wan.

Lin Wan looked up at him.

The two of them looked at each other. Silence.

Then, Lin Wan pushed a bowl of noodles in front of him.

“Eat.”

Lin Shen looked down at the bowl of noodles. In the noodles was a poached egg, a few pieces of chopped green onion, and a clear broth.

He picked up the chopsticks and began to eat.

The noodles were very hot. But he didn't stop.

Because, by being alive, he could feel the heat.

Feeling the heat proved he was still here.

Outside the window, thirty-seven lights were closing in.

But in the cafeteria, the lights were still on. That bowl of noodles was still steaming.

That was enough.